600 Credits
by PennieLane617
Summary: Starkiller's master has assigned him a seemingly uncomplicated task—obtain 600 credits in Coruscant's Galactic City in two weeks' time. The teenaged Starkiller is certain that this is another one of Vader's attempts to encourage his dark side impulses. He was told it would be easy to give in to such feelings, but after befriending some local beggers, he isn't so sure of that.
1. Chapter 1

Starkiller didn't need to be threatened. He didn't worry about the consequences of failure. To him, that wasn't even a possibility. He lived to serve his master, so there could be no other outcome.

600 credits. That was all that was asked of him this time. It was a seemingly straightforward task—survive in Galactic City and have the money in hand by the end of two weeks. Starkiller worried. He knew that there would have to be a catch. He knew that this would end up being another exercise to bring him closer to his darkest emotions. Dwelling too long on such thoughts made him feel hopeless.

Starkiller curled up beneath the single blanket that was thrown carelessly across his bed. He pulled his knees closer to his chin, still feeling the chill of the night air through the fleece material. The room swayed slowly as the _Executor_ floated through space. Starkiller felt himself beginning to fall asleep, so he shut the lantern next to the bed and closed his eyes. He was too exhausted to speak his birth name, as he did every night, so he visualized it and repeated it in his head. It looked strange and unsettling. Foreign, almost.

Morning came too quickly. Starkiller washed his face and avoided looking into the mirror. He was only seventeen, and yet he felt that he appeared older. The last time he had seen his reflection, he was shocked by how ragged he looked. Not dirty, but worn. Worn and empty.

He entered the hall and awaited his master. Outside the window was nothing but darkness speckled with stars. He thought of it as a metaphor for his life, except without the stars.

He bowed as Vader approached from the far side of the hallway.

"Good morning, master," Starkiller said.

"Go to the escape pods. The ship is directly above Coruscant's orbit," said Vader, striding past the boy with little concern.

"The escape pods? I'm going to...crash?"

Vader whipped around and stepped towards Starkiller.

"Do not question my authority. You are to do as I command you."  
"Yes, master," said Starkiller. He rushed towards the east wing and did not slow to walk until Vader was out of sight.

* * *

The escape pod was frustratingly tiny. Starkiller sat with his back following the curve of the wall. He hadn't measured himself in years, but he guessed that he was almost six feet tall by now. He felt awkward and unloved.

The pod ejected from the ship without any warning. Starkiller cried out as he tumbled around in what little space was open in the capsule. He could feel himself racing towards Coruscant faster and faster as the planet's gravitational pull became more intense. Smoke billowed around the pod and obscured the windows. Starkiller grabbed onto the handles above him and shut his eyes.

He crashed. It was a lot less painful than he thought it would be. A small airbag popped open three feet away from his face, and he grumbled at its uselessness. He pushed open the hatch towards the top of the pod and stuck his head out. His body ached from being constricted for so long.

The city was overwhelming. Speeders floated by overhead in lines, almost like ants marching. The glistening buildings were so tall that he had to strain his neck to see the tops. Starkiller recollected himself quietly. He stretched out each individual limb in an attempt to get rid of the achiness he was still feeling from his journey. He was thirsty.

Starkiller jumped to his feet and made his way toward what appeared to be a strip mall near the main road. Crowds of people pulsed in the direction of a building covered in flashing lights. A club, maybe.

The corner of the street was home to a decrepit little place called the Dewback Inn. A single wooden sign swung along with the breeze just above the entrance. Starkiller pushed the door open and made his way inside.

It was a cantina. Damn. Starkiller wasn't old enough to drink, and his presence near the bar would soon draw suspicion. He made his way over to the steps, stooping low to avoid attracting attention. The bartender poked his head up from behind a stack of glasses.

"Can I help ya, kid?" he asked, aggressively mixing a drink.

"Uh, yeah," said Starkiller. "I need a room. I mean, do you have rooms? I don't have money. I'm sorry, I—"

"You don't got money? Hell outta here, kid. Come back when you can afford it and the room's all yours. 30 credits a night. I'd love to help ya out, but this recession's got me in no mood for generosity. Door's that way."

Starkiller fought back tears and left, slamming the door shut behind him. He went back to the only place familiar to him now, and that was the dented escape pod.

 _Only weak men cry,_ scolded a voice inside his head. _Your tears are a sign of cowardice. Demand what you deserve._

Demand what you deserve. What did he deserve? He needed a place to stay, but he wasn't sure what he had done to deserve that.

 _You are the apprentice of one of the strongest Sith known to this galaxy. What other qualification could you need?_

No. That didn't feel right. His title did not make it acceptable for him to use violence to get what he wanted. Or did it?

 _Demand some money while you're at it. 600 credits, right? In two weeks? That's almost 45 credits a day. You have to get it somehow._

Starkiller leaned on the outside wall of the cantina. He pictured his birth name and repeated it in his head.

 _Stop that. You are not him anymore._

He visualized the face of his father. It was becoming harder to remember with each passing day.

 _Go inside and have another word with that bartender._

Starkiller put a hand on his lightsaber, which was tucked securely into his belt.

 _Yes, good. You won't have to fight everyone inside. When they realize who you are, they will fear you. They will respect you. And then you will be one step closer to completing your task._

Starkiller moved his hand away from his belt. He shoved the cantina door open and went back inside.


	2. Chapter 2

A rush of adrenaline pulsed through Starkiller's veins as he pushed open the cantina door for the second time. He checked to see that his lightsaber was still in his belt—he wasn't sure that he wanted to use it, but it was comforting to know that it was there. Revealing his identity as a Sith apprentice (or, as the general public was concerned, a full-fledged Sith) seemed more risky than anything.

Starkiller glanced around the cantina as he entered. This particular bar was not too dangerous in comparison to the others he had seen. Some patrons were slumped over in booths while others crowded around the pazaak tables cheering on the players. The house band was taking a smoke break in the corner, and the bartender cursed as he cleaned up a spill. Starkiller wondered how many people in here were about to die.

 _Stop thinking and just do it_ , said the voice in his head.

Starkiller strode up to the counter. The bartender glanced up at him and continued mixing the drink that he was working on. When he was finished, he looked surprised to see Starkiller still standing there.

"Can I help ya, kid?" he asked, the slightest bit of uncertainty in his voice.

"I need a room," Starkiller said, as firmly as possible.

 _You're about to go through the exact same conversation as before. No more asking. Demand what it is that you need._

The bartender sighed and began wiping down the counter. He poured himself a drink and took a long, exasperated sip before turning back towards Starkiller.

"Get out," he said.

"No," said Starkiller.

The bartender looked up, shocked.

"I said get out, you little skug, or there's gonna be a problem."

"The only one who's going to have a problem is you," Starkiller said, a pang of fear flashing in his stomach.

"What did ya just say?" the bartender raised his voice. Patrons looked over, and a few gasped.

 _Kill him._

Starkiller reached into his belt and opened his lightsaber. The red blade brought some light to the murky bar, attracting the attention of the entire cantina. People began backing away. Some fled, screaming in fear. Starkiller tightened his grip on the lightsaber. Power and fearlessness flowed through him.

"Hell do you think yer doing?" The bartender ducked as Starkiller made a swing at his head.

"Give me whatever's in the register," Starkiller demanded. His voice sounded confident and powerful. He barely recognized it.

The bartender reappeared at the bar with a blaster in his hand. Starkiller jumped to the side as his opponent fired a few shots at him. A fire erupted at one of the tables near the door. People were leaving the cantina in hordes, screaming and pushing one another against the exits.

Starkiller summoned some Force power and jumped onto the bar. He spun his lightsaber around in his hand and grabbed the bartender by his shirt.

"One last chance," he said.

The bartender stood firm. "Been the owner of this place fer years, kid. You'd gotta pry it from my dead hands to shut it down. Yer nothin' more than a bully. I'm not going bankrupt causa you." He fired a few more shots from his blaster and picked up a phone in the corner of the bar.

Starkiller leapt towards the bartender from behind, sinking his lightsaber into the poor man's back. The wounded man let out a scream and fired one last round from his weapon. The shot grazed Starkiller's arm and burned through his flesh. He winced in pain and forced back a cry.

Starkiller expected the bartender's death to be quite dramatic. Instead, he watched as the man's grip on his weapon loosened, and he fell back lifeless against the wall. Blood spilled down his clothing and ran across the floor.

There was nobody left in the cantina. No one had actually witnessed the murder. Starkiller felt a little relief as he popped open the cash register. The panel inside was worth 200 credits.

All that trouble for only a third of what he needed?

Starkiller took what he needed and leaned on the bar, trying to catch his breath. Sweat spilled down his back, gluing his clothing to his skin. The beginnings of a headache pulsed just above his right eye.

He closed his eyes for a few minutes, focusing on his breathing. He thought of countless ways to justify the murder. He was poor (untrue). He was starving (untrue). He was mentally unstable (partially untrue). He was a Sith and could do whatever he wanted (true).

 _You do not need to justify what you've done. Leave this place,_ said the voice.

The wound on Starkiller's arm was scalding. Suddenly aware of the pain, he rushed over to the sink and shoved his arm under the cold tap. Steam sizzled up from his arm as the water touched it. He cried out, but watched intently as blood and peeled skin were washed down the drain.

He didn't feel guilty. As he had been reaching for his lightsaber, he worried that he was doing something he may regret. But he didn't. He felt invigorated, despite his injury and crime. He was a Sith. He did not need excuses. He needed money, and he would use whatever means necessary to get it.

Starkiller turned off the faucet and made his way to the front door. He turned around one last time to look at the bartender, who was curled up in a pool of blood and alcohol.

He still felt no remorse. He wasn't happy about what he had done, either. Content was a better word. He saw his actions as necessary, but nothing worth celebrating.

There were people gathered around the entrance of the cantina. Starkiller approached them as he exited the place, and still saw no sign of local security or district police. People backed away in fear when they saw him. Hushed whispers—Sith, evil, demon, Jedi, murder—surrounded him.

He summoned a bit of Force power and lifted himself onto the sign above the Cantina door.

"I am a Sith," he said, "and you will show me the respect I deserve."

Some of the patrons nodded, while others bowed in respect (or fear). Most of them stood there in shock.

"The next person to deny me something I need will endure a death that is much more painful and much, much more prolonged."

 _You don't mean that, do you?_ The voice mocked.

"I mean every word of that," Starkiller added.

 _This is so unlike you, Galen._

 _Sweet little Galen, sitting in the treehouse that his dad built for him, surrounded in books and pretending he was a prince spending time in his royal library. Is this the same little boy?_

"He has three children," a voice from behind said. Starkiller turned to see an old woman, clutching her hood to keep out the night chill.

 _How cute he was, making trinkets out of branches and leaves for his mother to keep around the house, even though they were constantly on the run. Is this the same little boy?_

"So?" he asked, resisting the urge to shove her onto the street and make her his next victim.

 _He was always so lonely. Friends would never last. The only thing that stayed with him on each new world was the pain and the isolation._

"Surely you would be devastated if someone did the same to your father. You were a little boy once."

"I was," he said, unmoved.

"Is this the same little boy?" she asked.

He thought for a moment.

"I've always been here. Though it may seem like I've changed, I've really just been allowing myself to feel the emotions I've suppressed for so long. Yes, this is the same little boy."

 _Leave this place. You are finished here_.

Smoke billowed from the cantina windows as the fire inside continued to spread. Starkiller turned away, unconcerned, and returned to the alleyway where his escape pod had crashed. He tossed his earnings inside, sat down against the pod, and closed his eyes.

His lightsaber was tucked securely into his belt. He smirked at the possibility of using it again soon.


End file.
